


Are Yours Red Too?

by StrawberriesxBeyond



Category: Death Note, Death Note: Another Note
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Depression, M/M, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 12:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4835777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrawberriesxBeyond/pseuds/StrawberriesxBeyond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't often that the dates will change, but he's seen it happen more than once. Only once has it ever scared him, and only once has it ever pleased him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are Yours Red Too?

**Author's Note:**

> I started this awhile back and never thought I'd continue it, but here it is, not quite finished, but what more could you do. I hope it makes sense, as it was only ever written late at night. A little chronological telling of Beyond, to backup, to backfire.

It isn't often that the dates will change, but he's seen it happen more than once throughout his little quest of life. Only once has it ever scared him, seeing those numbers so suddenly dwindle, and only once has it ever pleased him. It was not a count down. They were set, and before then Beyond always figured it was destined; that those numbers were carved into stone. His mother killed herself three months later, after he learned this was not true. Fate was not set in stone.

Upon his mother's death, he'd been able to create a formula for the lifespan above all their heads.

The first one he witnessed was an old man he saw quite often. He wasn't much of a sight to any other, but Beyond, being young and fairly reckless for his age, was curious enough to recognize the man every time he passed him in the park across from his school. There wasn't anything significant about him. He did not carry around a pipe or a cane as often stereotypically illustrated in little stories nor did he have an atrocious nose and one creepy eye as the fables told. He would simply sit on a bench, - no particular one - settle in with a newspaper in hand, and promptly fall asleep.

Of course, Beyond could have just been interested merely because this foolish old man had made himself quite susceptible to well thought of pranks that required little effort on Beyond's part. Beyond would later laugh at the thought that he hadn't been the one to kill the old man after the numerous scares he gave him throughout the last year of his life.

At the time, Beyond didn't know it was his last year. In fact, it wasn't his last year, until two months prior to his actual death.

Beyond had clearly remembered the old man's numbers, as he did with most everyone's. Which was why it was a big shock to him when one day, after two weeks of not seeing the old man, the numbers were different.

They lived in a small town, and gossip was the backbone of the area. The old man's death was not exempt from this. Beyond easily overheard his mother going on about the "old married couple who couldn't stand to be apart."

Beyond could never honestly admit he'd experienced a broken heart. Upon his mother's death, he did not cry. When the digits above her decreased, he felt like a deer stuck in the headlights. He was petrified, and there was nothing he could do. She left despite his plead, and he only felt very empty when his mother moved on.

He did not know if he loved his mother, nor did he know if she loved him. They sparsely showed affection to each other and rarely acknowledged each other's presence in her eight years of knowing him, more so upon his father's death. His mother never spoke of him to her acquaintances and Beyond in kind would inform his peers that his mother was brutally killed in a gas explosion after hitting a semi.

But sometimes she read him stories. She'd smile at him on his way out to school or after ensuring he went off to bed. She made sure to hold his hand when crossing the street, or tell him to be careful when he went outside to play.

He couldn't remember ever truly hating the women. He couldn't truly remember ever hating anyone, but then he couldn't remember ever loving anyone either. Everyone was simply a number that would eventually expire to him. He did not have the time to play nice with someone who could possibly die before him, or even out live him.

When he was taken to Wammy's two years after his mother's death, he was surprised to see how short everyone in the establishment had left to live, though there weren't very many people in the first place. He wondered if the old man who was due in the next couple decades would die from old age. He did not care much for the others, least of all Roger who pestered him often. He was most curious to know of this "L" he so often heard of from the residents. He did not know of his numbers as he'd yet to see his face, nor even hear his voice. For several months Beyond refused to accept his existence until coming to terms that this being was simply a coward. Beyond was sure he had a very short lifespan.

The only child at Wammy's who would outlive the others was "A." It was most hard for Beyond to believe, as the child was as frail and skittish as a rabbit. Beyond would not be surprised when his numbers would drop.

****

When Beyond discovered that not every person was able to see the floating numbers and names above everyone’s heads, it was quite embarrassing.

He always had a feeling since the beginning that his mother never understood his insistent rambling and questions about the numbers. She gave him odd looks, and answered him with short, hesitant dismissals. Thinking back now, he assumed she must’ve brushed it off as a child’s imagination and left it at that.

On his first day of school, he asked the bespectacled boy beside him if his numbers came in red as well. The boy said no and something else about the number ten. Beyond agreed and did not ask again.

Beyond thought his school strange, from the creaking wooden floors to the flickering lights on the leaking ceiling. On an off day, he’d find a dead roach under his desk, and moths eating away at his forgotten homework. Sometimes the lunch left him with a cramp in his gut and a dread for tomorrow. Most of all, he thought it strange from the quirky teachers with odd voices to the dim children with fragile feelings. He knew they found him just as strange, but he only thought it fair.

Wammy’s was nothing like his old, strange, school. The children were not so fragile, as they did not play or speak or learn the way the other children did. The teachers were not teachers, but in fact professors, with strong voices that carried across the room with definiteness and authority. His meals were rich as were his textbooks and clothes.

He hated it, and his first night was lonely, quiet, yet his mind was screaming something he could not comprehend.

The morning after when his eyes stung and his throat clenched, the old man gave him looks that had something bubbling inside his chest that would last him a lifetime.

****

Beyond did not care for the food they served. It was too many spices and variety fit onto a too small plate. He avoided it when he could and forced it down when eyes were watching him, yet not without complaint. They called him picky and thought him a brat, but Beyond never denied it.

He only ever enjoyed the cookies, and only ever treated himself to one when the cooking lady coerced him into cleaning the dishes with her. She left them inside a ceramic jar, always different, always delicious, and Beyond was the definition of a cliched troublemaker as he snuck one out and away.

He’d offer one to A on his way to bed, and the boy always refused, but the one time he did not, Beyond wished he had. A took the jam filled treat with a gentle hand, along with Beyond’s own hand in an even gentler manner. They sat with a puzzle, one with no pictures or color, and Beyond thought it strange as they took turns setting down pieces.

Beyond asked why and A answered, always having an answer, that you didn’t need sight to see. _What a stupid notion._ Beyond was not afraid to tell him what he thought of his puzzle, and the boy took it with ease.

It was the first of lasts after a jam filled cookie fell onto white puzzle pieces scattered on the floor. Beyond did not apologize, and A haughtily mumbled that he did not like jam, forcing the cookie, and Beyond, away.  His next turn never came, and the puzzle piece stayed in his hand, something he kept with little understanding of why.

****

When A first fell ill in Beyond’s time spent at Wammy’s, it was the flu at its worse with wheezy breaths and slimy snot. Beyond thought it gross, told the boy as much, and shoved tissues in his face when they sat down for study. A only coughed in answer with a stale look of amusement marked on his face.

After that, A became sick often. Sometimes from a head cold, to a stomach virus that Beyond would blame on the food. The boy became fast friends with the doctors and was always sure to ask on behalf of A if the boy had cancer.

Sometimes, A’s illness could not be seen until one bothered to _look_. The old man always saw it, much sooner than Beyond could, and the thought irked him. A stupid notion popped up into his head, and he knew A would be pleased.

Sometimes Beyond did not look though, and then A was not so pleased. His temper was short, as was the time it took for the boy to shut down. Beyond thought he understood, but A was always sure to inform him of his insensitivities. Beyond did not understand, and he was not supposed to.

****

A disappeared frequently during the day as they began to pass their first dozen years. It became a great inconvenience for Beyond, who had barely begun to learn that it was better to sit through lecture in a duo, as were many things.

It took three days of an absent A for Beyond to begin searching, looking first to Roger, as the man’s door was _always_ open for him.

Beyond had never truly understood the orphanage’s purpose, never knew why L was such a hushed whisper of gossip amongst the children.

A was being tutored, Roger had told him. A is the top of the class, Beyond knew. _No he isn’t. He doesn’t need it._ The words were childish, yet Beyond hadn’t known they were until it all came together. _L has taken in A. L chose A._

A left often, and came back every time a little more frazzled than the last. Beyond pried, eyed the boy curiously, and A complied with much hesitance. He spoke of L with a kind of reverence Beyond couldn’t begin to imagine. He spoke highly of him, admirably, yet there was an edge to his voice that left an ugly knot to settle in his stomach.

His biggest inconvenience, perhaps, was the tightening in his chest when A looked at him, after every session, as if he’d know how to help. And every morning, before the boy disappeared again, Beyond wished him good luck, with little sincerity or sarcasm.

****

Beyond was always taller than A, something he took note of but never relished in. It never mattered to him, until somehow, someday, A became a weed, and his chin tilted up that much more the closer he stood to him. Beyond avoided standing close to him.

For the oddest reason, much of his classmates began comparing many aspects of themselves otherwise thought of as private. The competitions started over height, then to hair and stubble. They escalated, almost abashedly, with devious grins and cocky mutterings.

Beyond thought it ridiculous, until he found A scrutinizing his very nearly bare torso in his private quarters. Beyond had laughed at him, and A had turned away with a sour face, his ears red and voice clipped. It’s natural, Beyond had told him. Normal. _You’re normal._

Beyond couldn’t help but think of it more after, and found himself wondering about the otherwise private aspects of himself, as well as A’s. It was bothersome and embarrassing, but Beyond was not ignorant to the woes of puberty. Unfortunately, neither was A, and the shifts in their attitude towards the other was achingly apparent. Though Beyond was unable to hide his physicality as he could his mentality, nothing changed much between either boy.

****

The new boy was a pitiful sight, fiery by the day and weeping come night. He spoke with defiance and petty frowns, yet his gaze wavered under any elder. He kept to himself for the most part, but Beyond did not need to know him to know he was M. And Beyond did not need to know him to recognize the slow burn ablaze in his eyes at half his own age when the old man danced around careful words with sad eyes upon meeting the boy.

The next one to come fit in like a catalyst, setting off what was truly meant to be M. They did not become two, but rather merged at the hip, never alone when they knew there was no longer a need. It was strange and amusing, yet Beyond felt a bitter taste in his mouth at every thought of M.

They were children , yet they hardly acted like children. They were letters, yet they certainly didn’t act as letters. It was a game, but they were not playing. Of course, there was no need to on their part, for it was not yet their turn.

His turn did not come first either, but he played his part well, better than A ever could. It was a bitter thought, one he did not take to with much acknowledgment other than in passing after a lecture with Roger. He was the backup plan, second from the first, and he was no longer Beyond. He was B, small and static, no importance until their first plan failed, and fail it would.

Beyond knew he was not a letter, therefore he was not “B”, much like he refused to accept A was just a letter as well. He pestered him often, asking for his name, a nickname, anything to identify the boy with besides the galling “A”.

It was never given, and Beyond only slipped up once, something quiet and strained. A heard, he knew, but the boy looked confused, as if he’d never heard the name, never known it to be his.

****

A abandoned his puzzle around the time Beyond abandoned his escape.

It was another stupid notion that Beyond believed himself capable of and that A knew him to be foolish for. _You can’t escape the House, idiot._ Beyond knew A was right. It was not a matter of no one leaving the House, but rather the House never left you. They were all trapped.

It was then that Beyond decided were he to be trapped, where better to be trapped then in A and in B, where he was not Beyond. Afterall, he was not B, right? B played the game, but Beyond would finish it.

Beyond asked A for his name, again, another last, and A had no answer. _Guess you’re stuck with the House, then._

B stuck to A like glue, like M became one. They were not one though, not even two, instead something much more lonely than single numbers. It mattered little how much B would pull or push, how often he sought the false pleasure a touch here or there brought. His content never came, and A’s never existed.

****

He met L on the last day A would.

He was not a child, yet he was barely even a man. He looked over the children calculatingly, nitpicking, weeding. B could not help the irrational panic that crashed into him when those eyes passed over himself, and he’d forced himself to breathe.

B’s temper grew short upon dropping the man’s gaze, and the bitter idea that this man was no different from the rest of them nudged its way to the forefront of his conscience. What was L but a letter, picked from the middle and placed at the top above his own. What was L but an orphan, an unfortunate mind of intellect, another piece in the game.

He did not introduce himself as L, and B took pleasure in knowing he knew something this being, this _entity_ , did not. It proved his vulnerability, his mortality, and B thought, who was L but human?

And as L began to conclude this meeting, he asked for inquiries, and B complied. _Does L stand for loon?_

A had never appreciated B’s humor much, and he reminded him of such as they made their way to lecture. B joked that he’d grow fond of it, and was reminded again between stolen breathes that _he_ was the loon.

 

Their last of lasts was a much better taste than fallen jam filled cookies onto boring puzzle pieces. It was lingering and sloppy, quite lazy really, and he reached for more, no longer seeking taste, but the feeling of being full; quenched. It never came, and A had pulled away with wet lashes and a dry voice.

Beyond never begged, but spat venom in his face with little regard instead. Beyond told him everything and nothing, all that came to mind and all that he pulled from the air. He bared his indifference towards him in the best way he knew, and it was all lies, but A did not know. It was cruel and ugly, and Beyond did not stop, not when the tears began to roll across A’s cheeks, nor when the red numbers above his head dropped.

His words left blood stains and bruises, left behind possible soaked skin and clothes or maybe even impulsive gasps for air. Beyond did not know, but hoped rather it was quiet and done in the warmth of a bed, with little mess and little pain. It was a selfish notion, and quite a stupid one too, but Beyond hoped A wouldn’t mind.

The House was forced to abandon their alternative, and their backup backfired. It was easy to forget the house of Wammy’s and it’s occupants upon leaving, his only souvenir being a creased and stained puzzle piece, once devoid of color that turned in his hand with little notice. How he hoped A wouldn’t mind.

“My turn.”

 ******  
**


End file.
